On Being with Other People and Liking It

I seriously need some water but I am resisting going downstairs because I really want to get something done and if I leave, well, there goes my focus. So, hello focus, where are you? I want to try to write about Marion. Why am I so thirsty? I don't know.

On Being with Other People and Liking It

I have never exactly been the kind of person who can "hang out" with other people. My Asperger's makes me more than a little bit socially inept, and makes it difficult for me to figure out how to make small talk and conversation appear natural. I have to put a lot of effort into everything I say, and it takes a lot of energy to think out what I want to say, and how to say it. It takes a lot of energy to make things flow. Therefore, conversations can be exhausting. I like them; I am something of an extrovert in some ways. Conversation is often difficult for me but I cherish it. I seek it out. I start conversations with everyone who seems the least bit willing. I get a lot out of conversations. But that doesn't mean they're not work for me. Once I've had my fill, I want to leave as soon as possible; I can get overloaded easily. As for just "hanging out"? I can't do that. I need to be having an active conversation, I need to have things planned. I have never been good at "hanging out."

There's more to it, though. I have a lot of anxiety around people for other reasons. I get very worried about what they are thinking of me. I get worried about people criticizing me. I worry about getting into serious or emotional discussions I am not prepared for. I worry about getting yelled at. Sometimes I feel like I am always doing something wrong, and the more time I spend around people - and in this case I am talking about mostly family or people I know - the more chance I will get yelled at for somthing. It makes me nervous, skittish, uncomfortable. I feel often as I can't sit and relax around people I know because I just know the conversation is going to turn to something I've done wrong. Call me paranoid, call me whatever you want, maybe it 's true and maybe not, but that's how I feel. I can't sit and relax because I am too afraid of what will come next, and I didn't realize quite how many people I felt that way with. I also interpret what people say to be far more judgemental than it may be. In my mind, people will do nothing but judge me, (and I realize in this case I am most likely over reacting but it's not something I can turn off), so I just can't have a decent conversation with most people I know, between these two issues. I often interpet things in a very negative way and it keeps me rather on the edge. I get very defensive many times. When I do have conversations, it takes a lot of energy to try to keep these demons at bay. Because of these things and other reasons, I find myself spending a lot of time in my room at most places I've lived. I just can't emotionally deal with being with people for more than a short time. I need to feel safe in my room. It's just how I am.

But the oddest thing has happened since I moved back to Maine two weeks ago, to a house in Falmouth near where I grew up. I am living with a 92 year ol woman and her adult son. The woman is still very active, still very sharp, and can only be described as vibrant and passionate and, well, animated. Marion is, in a word, animated. And I love her for it. I love the emotion in her voice. I love the stories she tells. I love how she has an opinion on everything. There is passion and feeling in her voice when she tells her stories, and that is something missing from most people's communications these days. She likes to tell stories from her life or just opine on a topic from the news. I find myself drawn to her. Her hearing is not great but she can hear well enough to make conversation. I do a lot more listening than I do talking, though, which is somewhat unusual for me. I sit there, in a large, comfortable armchair in the living room, for up to an hour, soaking in her warmth, enjoying her presence. Today, I found myself sitting on the armchair reading the Sunday paper, while she read the other half in the chair across from me. Then I lied on the couch for a bit, resting, enjoying the comforting sound of her paper rustling. Afterwards, I leaned back in the chair and we talked for an hour. She flipped through the TV channels, and made comment about what she saw. I can't watch the TV as it hurts my eyes but I can listen, so I commented back. And I thought to myself, what am I doing? I'm sitting on a chair, relaxing, with someone. I am (kind of) watching TV with them, reading the paper with them. I am doing everything my parents wanted me to do with them the last time I was there, but I couldn't even fathom it, couldn't fathom how anyone did it with anyone else. I think I did use to do it when I was younger, but it's been years and years, so long that the experiences are buried in my memory. I thought, I like this. I like being with her. What is it about her that is allowing me to not only be able to spend this much unstructured time with another person, but actually to make me want to seek it out?

So I thought about it and I came up with a rather sad but, I feel, accurate conclusion. I realized, as I said above, that with most people, I am so damn afraid of them, I can't often stand to be in the same room as them. Yes, I know it sounds...unfortunate. But, I put so much energy into overcoming those feelings, and I do interact with others, but seldom if ever in a relaxed way. Somehow, maybe because she's 92 and "above it all," Marion does not seem to hold any judgement in her voice or being; she does not want to "change" me, like so many have before. She's not trying to mold me in any way. She just wants company and someone to tell her stories to. And, when you get right down to it, that's really all I want too. So we work well together. I often in the past read stories of the elderly; about how lonely they were, about how few things they had to look forward to, about how difficult being homebound was. I'd read them and think, Man, I can relate to these stories from 80 and 90 year olds better than I can from anyone else. I shared the same feelings. I often thought, I bet I might get along with someone like this; we'd maybe see the world in some of the same ways. It seems maybe that I was right.

Of course, it's also the simple things. I enjoy the emotion and excitement in her voice when she greets me every day; I soak it up. When she puts her attention on me I feel like she really wants to talk to me, she really is happy that She say "How are you" like she really means it, and I soak that up too. She always seems genuinely glad to see me; there is a warmth in her voice that I have experienced with few others. Who wouldn't want to be with someone who was glad to see them?

The book "Tuesdays with Morrie" keeps coming to mind. I would not say it is like that; we are not engaged in any formal lessons, teaching, or whatnot. But maybe you can say, in a way, that it is more like that than I thought. Maybe without even meaning to, she is teaching me the meaning and value of companionship; the meaning and value of "just being" with another person. She is showing me it is possible to want to "hang out" with another person. Hang out! Never thought I'd see the day. I only wonder if there is a way I can transfer this feeling to other people and find ways to be more comfortable with them. Humans are subjective and highly variable, which is a problem, at least for me; this situation could change more easily than I would like. Anything could happen. I hope it doesn't. But for now, I am enjoying it. I feel more centered and far calmer after sitting down for half an hour to chat with her, and I hope it never changes. There's just something about her. I can only imagine the perspective one must have at that age. I hope I get to experience it one day.